


While I Was Crying

by dametokillfor



Series: Things You Said [9]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Established Relationship, Gen, Homophobia, M/M, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8037997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dametokillfor/pseuds/dametokillfor
Summary: Harry's father was a piece of shit. After a nightmare, he finally tells James just how much.





	While I Was Crying

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a little writing meme on [Tumblr](http://xfactorera.tumblr.com/post/110395333021/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a) about 'things you said...' and I decided rather than asking for requests in my ask, I'd just write little ficlets for each of them in various pairings, and various fandoms. They're unlikely to be connected, so do jump about and find the ones that interest you! :)
> 
> This is number nine, 'things you said while I was crying'.
> 
>  
> 
> **HEED THE TAGS. Harry's father is not a nice man, and he did not treat his son well. I don't want anyone to get triggered by this.**

He doesn’t dream about them too often anymore. He’s older, he’s been away from them longer than he was ever with them.

His dreams nowadays are filled with either the gorgeous man who shares his bed, or the agency he’s given his life too. (And that strange recurring dream with Mr Pickle announcing he wants to be a burlesque dancer, so they have to go nipple tassel shopping).

But when the nightmares do come, they’re no less brutal than they used to be, than his actual life used to be.

His father stands over him, like some looming demon, eyes blazing and the stench of the thick cigar between his teeth is overpowering. His belt is in his hand and Harry feels so small. The slurs come thick and fast, each one being punctuated with a snap of his belt across Harry’s back. He’s the same age he is now in the dreams, but was barely 12 when the attacks had started.

Harry tries not to cry out, doesn’t want to give his father the satisfaction, even in his own mind but it’s futile. The pain is searing, the belt feels like a knife slicing into him.

As the cigar comes out of his mouth, the promise to burn the devil out of him, Harry screams and shoots up in bed.

He’s sweating, and he’s crying and for a moment fears he’s pissed himself, like he had as a child, like he was beaten harder for.

There’s a soft, low voice from beside him, and a warm body next to him and it takes him a moment to remember where he is. It’s Kingsman HQ, it’s James’ room, it’s safe. He’s safe. They’re safe.

“Harry? What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

Harry takes a long moment to slow his breathing, to centre himself, to bring his walls back and pull his mask back.

“Darling?”

And that does it. James’ voice is so soft, so full of concern. There’s the lightest touch of a hand to his arm, not crowding, just grounding and every wall Harry has put up just crumbles down.

He pulls his legs to his chest, and his head falls to his knees and he sobs. He sobs in a way he hasn’t since he was 14 and he ran away, just to be anywhere that wasn’t with his father.

He feels James’ arms wraps around him, and pull him tight to his chest. He feels James lips in his hair, whispering soft platitudes, telling him to get it out and that he’s not going anywhere til Harry asks him to.

Harry knows he’s making a fool out of himself, he can hear himself almost screaming the tears out, but James doesn’t care, James is still here. Harry still has this.

It feels like hours have passed when he finally manages to calm down, when there are no more tears and his head aches. James is still holding him, still wide awake and pressing kisses and promises into his hair.

Harry pulls back from the embrace first, scrubs at his eyes, “I’m okay.”

His throat is raw and he’s going to be fielding some interesting comments around the table tomorrow.

“Do you need anything?” James asks, “Water? I’d offer you a tissue, but I don’t think it’d do much good now.”

Harry huffs a small laugh, “Not particularly. Some water would be nice though, thank you.”

James smiles, drops a kiss on Harry’s forehead, and clambers out of bed, to the small en suite.

Harry takes a moment to brush back his sweaty curls, as if James hasn’t already seen him at his worst tonight. He never stops wanting to impress the man, and slightly tidier hair after a mental collapse like that makes bizarre sense to him.

“You don’t have to tell me what that was about, not if you don’t want to.” James says, as he comes back in, glass of water in one hand and a box of tissues in the other, “But if you do, I’ll listen.”

Harry doesn’t want to tell him, not really. He doesn’t want anyone to know what happened. Even Merlin only knows the abridged version of events, shitty Dad end of story. He doesn’t want to be pitied, to be told how brave and how strong he is for surviving. Yet he wants James to know everything about him, he never wants to lie to him, not even by omission.

James hands him the water, places the tissues by them, and takes his hand. He presses a kiss to the knuckles, “Nothing you say will ever change the way I feel about you.”

And Harry believes him.

“When I was 12, my father started suspecting I was gay.” Harry says, voice quiet, “I didn’t even know then, I was 12, I wasn’t interested in anything past bugs. So he started... corrective therapy, shall we say? I said something he didn’t like, or mistook for something queer and he...”

James clutches his hand tighter, he’s safe, he’s with James. He’s not a child anymore.

“He started with slaps, a few to the face. It soon changed, apparently I didn’t learn fast enough and then there was the belt, and the cigars.”

Harry can feel himself welling up again, how is he not a dried out husk? He’s cried so much.

“And I didn’t know what I’d done, what I’d said. So I stopped talking, I stopped doing anything really. I didn’t know what was safe anymore.” Harry explains, and his heart aches for those lost months, the days when he woke up and would stare at the wall all day, only stopping to eat and use the bathroom.

“But that didn’t help, school would get in the way and I would have to interact and study, and I didn’t know what was safe. Did you know French was gay? English literature as well. Having a natural talent for anything other than Rugby was... unacceptable. A little bizarre when you consider how homoerotic the game is really.”

He’s trying to make jokes, make it easier. He doesn’t want to do this, but at the same time he feels like he needs to now.

“One day, I snapped. I... I asked him what was okay, what I needed to study to stop me from wanting to suck cock, because none of his re-education was successful.” Harry lets out a humourless laugh, “Biggest mistake of my life.”

Harry turns James’ hand in his, moves it to the scar hidden under his chest hair.  James has brushed over it before, assumed it’s from a mission, as he’s mistakenly assumed several are.

“He stabbed me,” Harry’s voice is low, quiet, “He just launched across the kitchen, and stabbed me.”

“I thought I was going to die. I thought I was going to die, and nobody was going to care.”

Harry can feel the tears falling down his cheeks, “He didn’t care. My mother didn’t. I was laid there, bleeding out on the kitchen floor, and I was ready to die. I was 14, and I was ready to die.”

“I still don’t know how I survived, not really. I just remember deciding I wasn’t done yet, pulling myself to my feet and getting out of the house. I remember falling to the pavement outside my house, and everything is black after that.”

“It’s never the stabbing I have nightmares about, it’s everything leading to it.” Harry admits, “It’s the fear of what followed, of knowing there was worse to come. Nothing I have ever faced with Kingsman has frightened me as much as my own father did. Does.”

James doesn’t say anything for a long moment, Harry can see him processing everything in his head. He’s irrationally terrified that James is about to tell him that he can’t do this, that Harry is too messed up and his father was right.

But God, James is perfection.

“I love you.” James says, and though it’s not the first time he’s said it, it somehow feels like the most important, “You amazing, incredible man.”

His voice is shaky, and Harry can see tears. He’s angry that his past has hurt this perfect man, and that he’s made him cry. Fuck.

“I am so fucking... I’m angry that he would hurt you, that he didn’t see how brilliant you were. I’m so fucking proud of you for not being a bitter, twisted husk because of him, for proving him wrong and for being so perfect.” James takes Harry’s face in his hands, “Thank you for trusting me with this.”

Harry is laughing a little, soft and broken. How has he got this lucky? How is this his life? He kisses James, doesn’t think he can quite manage words right now. It’s _I love you_ , it’s _thank you_ , it’s _I’m sorry_ , it’s _I don’t deserve you_. It’s everything in one soft kiss.

As he pulls back, James rests his forehead against Harry’s, smiles sweetly at him, “I will always be here. Always.”

It’s an empty promise. In their line of work, there’s always a chance that one of them is going to get on the wrong end of a bullet, or be caught in a blast that isn’t meant for them. Right now though, it makes him feel safer, more real.

And right now that’s all Harry needs.

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me on [Tumblr](http://damnstevens.tumblr.com), where we shall squee over all the things.


End file.
